


Wine of Moonlight Flavour

by prompt_fills



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Late at Night, M/M, Summer, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re late,” Fernando says when Mark pulls himself over the edge of the roof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine of Moonlight Flavour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dorythebrown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorythebrown/gifts).



> Many thanks to f1rabbit for being an awesome and speedy beta.

“You’re late,” Fernando says when Mark pulls himself over the edge of the roof.

Mark swings his legs up and straightens from his crouch. Threading carefully over the narrow beams that can easily support his weight, he walks to Fernando. He’s barefoot and the terracotta tiles are still warm to the touch, even after the sun has set down.

Fernando shifts a little to the side, making room for Mark.

Mark slides into the narrow space next to him. “I come bearing gifts,” he offers, placating. He shows Fernando the bottle of red wine and hands him both of the glasses. He uncorks the wine and pours some into the glasses while Fernando is still holding them.

“You’re lucky you’re _pretty_ ,” Fernando grumbles.

Mark nearly spills the wine and barely manages to hold in the nervous chuckle that threatens to escape his lips. “Okay.”

They move their glasses in that funny ritual Fernando first taught him with tequila and that they now use with pretty much everything. Mark thrusts his hand up, down and out and the wine sloshes inside his glass, glistening darkly in the night, like blood.

Mark takes a sip, then settles the glass down on the flat of the ridge, next to where he put the bottle. He leans down on the steep hip of the roof, the tiles a pleasant warmth on his back. He folds his arms behind his head, gazing up in the sky.

His view is mostly obscured by an aged holly oak, its leaves brushing against the roof. There are no clouds in the sky. Soft light of the moon filters through the branches, spilling across the roof and creating patterns on Fernando’s skin. Half of the Spaniard’s face is hidden in shadow, half light by the moon.

Fernando seems to feel Mark’s gaze and turns his head to catch Mark’s eyes, breaking the spell.

“A lovely night,” Fernando comments.

“Yeah.”

Mark can hear the waves breaking against the rocky cliffs in a distance, the crickets chirring below them, the gentle wind playing with dry palm leaves. There is a unique combination that completes Catalonia nights. The faint smell of Fernando’s shower gel has always been a part of it as well.

“It’s nice, you know?” Fernando goes on. “To get away from it all, even for a little while. I just – I need to feel like I can breathe.”

“You and me both, mate,” Mark mutters.

“I know, right?” Fernando turns his head up to watch the sky. The shadows start to dance across his cheeks, over his lips and throat.

Mark glances away. Deep breath. Eyes on the sky. Now or never. “Why did you ask me here, anyway?” He tries to make the question seem casual but he isn’t sure he succeeds. He should have picked better words – hopefully Fernando would understand he’s not asking about the roof.

There is the tiniest beat of hesitation, then Fernando leans up on his elbow and pitches his voice low. “I couldn’t stand to be without you.”

Fernando doesn’t manage to keep a straight face and starts laughing midway through his statement. It doesn’t stop the embarrassing warmth from heating Mark’s cheeks. He silently curses the Spaniard and then he curses himself, too, because he should be used to Fernando saying things like that.

Fernando picks up on Mark’s discomfort lightning fast. “Aw, darling,” he says, attempting the same tone as before, “you’re not regretting you came with me, right?”

“Of course not,” Mark replies because he can never be sure if Fernando is just poking fun at him or if there is a hidden worry in the question.

Fernando doesn’t lie back down. “I liked the swimming, and the boat. And I especially liked how you got burnt by the sun.”

“Oh yeah? I bet that was your favourite part.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the _absolute_ highlight of this vacation,” Fernando murmurs, leaning in close.

Mark freezes but his heart speeds up. He can’t move. He knows what’s coming and he refuses to believe Fernando would pick this moment, when they're out in the open. _Not right now._

“God,” Mark says, jerking his head away just in time. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?”

“Crazy for youuu,” Fernando croons, so horribly off tune Mark doesn’t recognize the melody.

Mark regards him sternly. “Isn’t it enough we’re here? If someone sees us, they’re going to _assume_ things.”

“If someone sees us,” Fernando says but he doesn’t finish his thought, taking a sip of wine instead.

“Yeah?” Mark prompts.

“I’m starting to think that maybe, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“Fer,” Mark starts warningly.

Fernando huffs, pulling away as much as the roof allows it.

They’re silent for a while, then Mark says, much softer, “Fer.” They’ve already had their fair share of uncomfortable conversations about this.

Fernando glances at him, his eyes dark and unreadable in the night.

“The cycling was fun,” Mark tries.

A few seconds pass, then Fernando takes pity on him.

“Oh, yeah, for you, maybe. For me? It was a torture!” Fernando leans back, propped on his elbows. He raises his legs and turns them sideways.

“You poor thing,” Mark manages.

Fernando shoves his legs into Mark’s lap, unapologetic. Mark places one hand over Fernando’s left ankle but his restless fingers are walking up Fernando’s shin in no time. The skin is silky smooth to the touch and Mark frees his other hand and starts kneading the tense muscles. Fernando hums appreciatively.

“Two, maybe three years,” Mark says quietly. “Then no one would care.”

Fernando knows _exactly_ what they’re talking about. He snorts.

“At least not as much,” Mark relents.

Fernando doesn’t say anything, so Mark continues with the massage that eventually turns into a plain foot rub.

Fernando pulls his legs back, bending them at the knees and resting his head over them.

The night is growing colder and Mark shivers in his thin shirt.

“I hate waiting,” Fernando sighs, swirling his wine from side to side, then taking the last sip. He leans over the edge of the roof, well into the overhang.

Mark closes his fingers in a fist to stop himself from reaching over and pulling him back.

“Hate it,” Fernando repeats. With a breathless laugh, he grasps his glass with the tips of his fingers and lets it drop down.

It shatters noisily against the hard ground beneath them. The sound reverberates, an intruder into the previous harmony of the night. The chirring comes to a halt. Mark holds his breath and waits. Fernando waits too, but he appears to wait eagerly, hoping the noise would attract someone’s attention to them.

There is no flash of cameras and no one pokes their head out to inquire about the source of the noise.

“Get back,” Mark hisses. He yanks at Fernando and gets him to hide in the shadows of the roof and the tree branches again. Fernando curls into him, still laughing quietly, not minding in the slightest. His breath smells like wine.

Fernando entangles their legs and presses closer still, making Mark regret his choices.

“You’re impossible,” Mark complains.

“Yeah, totally wasted,” Fernando says, though he is not. “You’ll have to carry me down and into the bed.”

“Uh-huh,” Mark drawls, “and how do you suppose I do that, hn?”

“You’ll find a way,” Fernando assures him.

Mark lets go of him, making sure he’s propped up by the slope of the roof. If anyone were to glance up, they’d be too far back to be spotted. The oak branches would shield them were someone to look from above. Hopefully, no one would feel the urge to look this late into the night.

Mark holds his breath and drops a feather-light kiss on Fernando’s lips and before the Spaniard could react, he slithers away.

“Hey,” Fernando protests, “you can’t just–!”

“Oh, I believe I can.”

Fernando appears to be outraged. “That’s false advertising!”

Mark laughs, taking a step back, safely out of Fernando’s reach. He grabs his own glass and finishes it off, then takes the bottle with him.

Fernando frowns, “Come back here!”

“You come a little closer,” Mark retorts, making his way to where they can get back down on the ground in one piece.

“One of these days,” Fernando grumbles as he gathers himself up with ease, “I’m going to have a make out session on the roof.”

“You can certainly dream, mate,” Mark chuckles, waiting just long enough to see Fernando paddle over the rafters to the low slope, steps sure.

Mark jumps off the roof onto the lower one, then bounces down to the ground. He quickens his steps, carefully avoiding the whole area where the shreds from Fernando’s broken glass might be.

Maybe it’s been a stupid idea to wait. Maybe they can be careful enough that no prying eyes would see.

He pats his pockets to find his keys, and smiles when he hears Fernando landing down, and then his hurried steps following close behind.


End file.
